My Heart Knows Nothing of Time
by CharlotteCumberbatch
Summary: Sherlock has had two years to think about his feelings for John, and ends up having to make choices he'd never imagined he'd have to. [Eventual JohnLock].
1. Chapter 1

**This is going to be my first multi-chapter story so any reviews and criticism will be very much appreciated, though flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Enjoy!**

**xoxox**

When he shouted at Mrs Hudson, he'd thought he was just angry about her not shutting up, perhaps the lack of nicotine was getting to him. But in reality, she was in John's chair. Nobody sits in that chair but John. Mrs Hudson making herself at home on it is just wrong... Sherlock realises that now, realises a lot of things. Sherlock sees things a little differently than before, and it unnerves him because being away from his best friend for two years had changed him more than The Fall, more than the torture he'd endured physically. Hell, more than having to fake his death after watching Moriarty shoot his own brains out.

Of course, there was the question he'd been plagued by all this time.

_Why John?_

Two years he'd had to think about that one question. Two years since he 'died' for the man, two years of torture and the loneliest two years of his life: after all, now he knew what he was missing. _Friendship. Fun. Mutual understanding. Hope... happiness, even_.

Two years and the worlds only consulting detective had narrowed down the possibilities to something more than attraction or lust; (_yes, John is attractive but sexual desire wouldn't last this long, no... must be more than that. Friendship then, but I don't have friends and besides, friendship doesn't generally involve such a deep affection. Something between a deep friendship and sexual attraction then. That only leaves one option. Infatuation? No, longer lasting and not so easily extinguished. Love._)

Love. The one thing Sherlock Holmes had never expected to feel in his lifetime. Respect, sure. Companionship, possible. Delight, maybe.

But love was something else entirely, love was weakness. Love went against everything he ever believed in. Love defied logic, and if there was one thing Sherlock valued it was logic. He was a freak, a psychopath, a virgin, a machine.

But a machine wouldn't feel a pang in his chest at the words 'not gay' or want to tear his hair out in frustration and self-hatred at seeing the little nose twitch and furrowed brow that betrayed John's irritation. A machine wouldn't even be able to experience the metaphorical butterflies Sherlock felt in his stomach or ask himself questions late at night: _what would kissing John be like? Aggressive or deceptively sweet? What kind of a lover was he? Did he miss him? Think about him?_

Sherlock sighed, eyes still fixed on the chair. John's chair. He felt a twinge of guilt at snapping at Mrs Hudson, it wasn't her fault after all. A long, slow sigh fell from his lips and blue eyes fluttered closed.

Fuck.

Hands clasped together under his chin, Sherlock tried to figure out when this had started - his deductions placed respect as an instant reaction due to the doctors military career, more so when he'd shot that cabbie... friendship was harder, but it was definitely around the time he'd found John's blog. Seen how the man wrote about their cases. How he wrote about him with such positive words, respect. Nobody had really had much good to say about Sherlock that didn't correlate with his intellect or cheekbones until John had began to pick him apart.

Was affection always this hazy, Sherlock wondered.

He'd tried so hard to ignore the growing feelings but it was on the rooftop of St. Barts when he realised it wasn't going to work forever. He could pretend for only so long, focusing on being 'married to the work' but when push came to pull - he didn't have a choice.

Sherlock Holmes was an honest man, and if he was going to have any degree of peace in his mind... he had to tell John Watson he loved him.

**xoxox END xoxox**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: The Confession. As I said this is my first multi-chapter story, so please bear this in mind if/when you comment!**

**Enjoy!**

**xoxox**

John was very used to surprises in 221B Baker Street and with all the bizarre animal teeth, human limbs and other unmentionables that randomly and recurrently appeared in the fridge, as well as the unpredictable comings and goings in the name of research, he quickly grew accustomed to unexpected occurrences in his once dull life. After the kerfuffle that had occurred when Sherlock returned from the dead with more of an effect than Jesus himself, one thing he never expected to come home to was a neat and tidy flat, dinner on the table and no weaponry or human remains in sight.

"Uh... Sherlock?" The doctor frowned, a confused look on his face as he took in the scene. His curly-haired raven detective was drumming his pale fingers against the arm of the sofa with a look in his eyes that John thought looked suspiciously like fear.

"Sit down, John... make yourself comfortable. I made dinner, I know you like potatoes extra crispy so I hope I got things right."

"Uh... sure..."

A pregnant pause, a small shuffling noise as both men got comfortable.

Clattering of silverware on china, glasses being filled and re-filled, the murmur of trash TV in the background and the occasional cough or appreciative mumble.

"What brought all this on?" The doctor asked, watching the younger man take the now empty plates to the kitchen. Silence broken only by running water and the pump of soap.

"Sherlock..." He tried again, standing now.

"I felt..." a sigh, Sherlock frowned inwardly. "I felt I owe you an apology..." he said slowly, thinking. John was taken aback, looked around at the uncharacteristically clean environment.

"You've already apologised... many times, Sherlock. I told you I -"

"- forgive me, I know." Sherlock said, putting the plates away, murmuring the last two words over in his head: _I know_. It was still baffling how John forgave him so easily, even when he'd told the doctor why.

Well, part of 'why' anyway.

Minus the whole_ love_ part.

"The thing is, John... I have not been completely honest with you."

It was now or never, Sherlock knew. If he waited this out, John would end up back with Mary... good, tolerant, feisty, loving Mary. John hadn't told him yet, but his deductions were never wrong. _John had been laughing a little less, had more time though (not taken up by dates) the ring was still in it's box. Unopened, meaning he'd never gotten around to proposing. Mary hadn't been around as often either, John didn't smell so much like her perfume any more and hadn't shaved in approximately six days._

John cocked his head to the side, that nose twitch again... "what? Honest about what?"

"You know I fell, you know why I fell... you do not know that my feelings for you greatly influenced my choice to-"

"Um... what?" John looked baffled, earning a pained groan from the detective. "Feelings? I don't get you..." a pause.

There seemed to be a lot of pauses in this conversation, Sherlock thought.

"Yes, John."

"Care to... y'know, explain?"

"I happen to have affectionate romantic feelings for you, ones tha-"

_"Sherlock!"_ John sat down as if exhausted, rubbing his temples. "So... you're saying you fancy me?"

"Fancy...? Oh, honestly... John, what a juvenile term. I am in love with you, infatuated if you will."

The impact was so sudden, it took his breath away. The deceptively smooth skin of John's fist was actually quite harder than it looked and it hurt upon impact and yet his now throbbing face remained stoic save for the hurt in his eyes. A pale hand shook as he touched the tender flesh, feeling the swell of muscle.

"Sher- God, I'm sorry... I didn't mean..."

"It's quite fine, John."

"Not really..." The doctor handed him a bag of frozen peas.

"I expected it." Sherlock's voice was calm, albeit a little shaky and quieter than his regular. John felt his chest tighten, _he expected me to punch him in the face? I don't know who's the bigger idiot now, me or him._

Both men sighed, a simultaneous exhale of breath as their eyes met.

This was not going too well.

**xoxox END xoxox**

**Thank you for reading chapter 2, I'll be working on the next over the weekend so if anyone has any feedback that'd be awesome. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**So, chapter 3... this one has a trigger warning for drug abuse/relapse so be aware.**

**xoxox**

John Watson was a doctor, he knew bruising was inevitable but it still made him cringe to see the swelling and purple hue across Sherlock's cheek and nose the next morning, muttering an apology on his way out to the surgery. Sherlock hadn't moved from his spot on the sofa all night, the peas since defrosted and thrown away by a tutting Mrs Hudson and her appalled declaration of "oh, have you boys been fighting again?" being promptly ignored by both men.

_Of course he hit me. He'll go back to Mary. Not gay. I mocked him. No, I mocked myself. Stupid. Stupid idea, stupid to tell him. Stupid to fall for him at all. Stupid to come back. I deserved that... ruining our friendship. His pride? He's not gay. Fuck, Sherlock. Fuck. _

_"Caring is not an advantage." Mycroft warned me. "Friends protect each other." Love._

"FUCKING HELL"

Mrs Hudson gasped and rushed downstairs when Sherlock yelled, avoiding the clearly distressed detective and leaving him to his own devices. She didn't hear him swear often, though she was used to such language from John. She shook her head, "I do hope those boys sort their funny heads out..." she sighed.

**xoxox**

John went through his morning in a daze. Going through the motions much the same way he had in the first few months after... after Sherlock 'died'. Only this time, rather than numb, he was just extraordinarily confused. Sherlock fancied - no. Sherlock loved him? He remembered that first case, sitting in Angelo's café when Sherlock had said those words that would later go around John's head like a mantra: _'married to my work'_ and _'no interest in any kind of relationship'_. The doctor sighed, massaging his temples and slouching at his desk. Bloody idiot he was, punching the guy. He loved Mary, he was straight, Sherlock was a stubborn jackass. _Then again, so am I..._ John thought, allowing a frustrated sigh exit his lips before he called in the next patient.

The next few hours were even hazier: a seven year old girl with tummy-aches, an older woman with leg cramps and a man with piles all came and went through his office, and all he could think about was if Sherlock fucking Holmes hadn't jumped, none of this would've happened.

Right?

**xoxox**

_Pounding, throbbing, pushing, aching._

"Ugh..." Sherlock groaned, his body curling into a fetal position as he buried his aching head into one of the pillows. He knew the migraine was more stress related than due to the blow John had dealt him the night before, but all that knowledge served him was more frustration. God, it would be so easy to relieve the pain. Just one little hit. Just to make the dull ache, the pressure go away.

Just once wouldn't hurt though, right? But John would know. John would be disappointed... A cracked sob broke from his chest, leaving him feeling like the most pathetic little creature on Earth. He hadn't had one of these headaches in a long time, and he knew they'd catch up to him... but now? Why now? He clenched his fists against his head, this hadn't happened in months and even then (even since meeting John) they'd been more bearable than when they'd first started.

Just one hit would make the pounding stop, help him think a little clearer... take his mind off the chances he'd ruined in one night.

**xoxox**

"Doctor Watson, we're closing for lunch" the pretty blonde nurse poked her head around the door, John stood and stretched - was it really only noon?

"Thank you Sarah, when's the next one due?"

The woman checked the computers, bustling around with keys at the same time, then; "1:30" she replied with a smile. John nodded, he had a while then. Thank God for that, he could do with a cuppa that's for sure and the mere thought of caffeine sounded heavenly after such little sleep. _Sherlock's fault for keeping half the street awake with his bloody violin_. A disgruntled yawn and John found himself in the office with a roll (the last bacon one) and two cups of coffee, feeling a bit more alert although left to his own devices for an hour meant he was free to think about the recent events.

Sherlock. Liked. Him. Him, John Watson.

_Goddamn it._ John wasn't gay, but back in the day he_ had_ felt some attraction to the tall, curly-haired detective. Whether it was mere admiration, or something more John didn't know - but then Sherlock had jumped and it had been over just like that. Not the feelings, but the hope that they could spend the rest of their lives together solving cases and laughing and arguing over limbs in the fridge. John sighed, for the thousandth time that day, he'd have to talk to Sherlock when he got home.

A serious talk was in order, and he was not looking forward to it.

**xoxox**

A hiss of pain, a clatter of the needle hitting tiled flooring, a soft groan.

Relief.

_Approximately ten to twelve minutes before the headache goes away, then I can just enjoy the high._ Sherlock deduced, closing his eyes and resting his head back against the side of the bath. His breathing was shallower now, beads of sweat prickled his hairline and trickled like a tear down his bruised cheek. _Just this once. Just this one hit,_ he assured himself, everything was going to be fine.

Ah, there it was. Sherlock felt the tension and stress ebb away for the time being, and slumped against the tub. Finally.

_**"SHERLOCK!?"**_

_John...? Mm, sounds hot when he's angry... never noticed before. Huh..._ "Mmph, let go..." Sherlock groaned, feeling strong hands shaking his shoulders roughly, shaking him out of his hazy little fantasy where everything was fine and John loved him.

"Fucking hell, Sherlock... are you HIGH?" John yelled, hauling the incapacitated male upright and looking into his eyes; pupils blown up so hardly a smidgen of blue-green iris was seen, feverish, pale, the lack of focus, bloodshot and puffy eyes, goddamn it... John's fingers groped at Sherlock's wrist: rapid pulse, too. Fuck. "Honestly, I thought you were done with this..." a broken giggle was his only reply, and the doctor rolled his eyes. He knew getting a serious response was unlikely with Sherlock in this state. "Come on" he muttered, irritated, "need to get you into bed."

"Finally!"

"..."

John groaned, "not like that..." he muttered, half dragging the man to the living room and sitting him on the sofa. "Why, Sherlock?" he asked, pushing a cold glass of water at him across the table and watching as he tried to drink, spilling the liquid all over his pajamas. (_The ones he'd been wearing last night_, John noted.)

John buried his head in his hands, feeling Sherlock slump against him, his thin frame shaking and cold now.

"..."

He knew he couldn't stay angry with him, and sighed as he dragged a blanket around Sherlock and held him tight through the experience. He realised the detective was crying, and frowned. This was something he'd never seen from the man, and it was unnerving to say the least.

"I'm so sorry Johnny... sorry, didn't mean to love you... forgive me?" Sherlock babbled, mumbling more to himself before his bloodshot eyes widened and he swayed a little against the shorter of the two.

"I'm sowry..." his voice lisped, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

John sighed, "you don't... need to apologise, Sherlock..." he swallowed and shook his head, "for anything."

He didn't quite know what he was thinking, but the next moment he'd looked Sherlock dead in the eyes and pressed one single, simple kiss to that sad mouth before he realised quite what he'd done.

**xoxox**

**I hope you enjoyed! Poor Sherlock, old habits die hard right? Chapter 4 coming soon. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock stared, his blue eyes wide and filled with such confusion that John wondered if he'd made a mistake. Sherlock blinked, a slim pale finger touching his lips cautiously as if to check it had really happened.

"John... I -?" A pause, then the taller man leans down and copies the doctors action by way of a soft, chaste kiss. John smiled against the detectives lips, relieved, and pulled away to look at his friend. "I'm sorry for hitting you, and... I'm sorry it took me so long to do that..."

"You're not gay..." Sherlock slurred, eyes narrowing as he tried to deduce the doctor. He couldn't, his balance failed and he slouched back against the older man, breaking out in cold sweat and clenching his fists. _Why did he have to do this when I'm high, can't his crap have waited...?_

"Well..." John frowned, he wasn't gay. But Sherlock wasn't like most men he'd met. "There's men, there's women... there's you."

"I have a fully fun... functional... penis, John." Sherlock rubbed his eyes and giggled, and John would be lying if he said there wasn't something sexy about the way Sherlock giggled. _He's high, you can't take advantage of that you bloody idiot._

"I know, well..." he waved a single hand, "I assumed as much."

Another giggle, strained this time. He felt soft black curls nuzzling into his neck. "Sherlock?"

Silence. Then he felt the detective shaking a little.

"Cold."

"Who's fault's that?" John murmured, "how long does this stuff last, usually?"

Sherlock had the audacity to roll his eyes like a petulant adolescent, as if John is the one being unreasonable, thinking for a moment before his skin prickled - heating up now. "Few hours..." he mumbled, "longer if I haven't eaten in a while." John knew better than to ask, dinner last night... when had he eaten last, before that? He didn't know and dreaded to ask, but at least Sherlock had_ something_ in his system even if it was just a few bites.

The hot and cold flushes were the least pleasant part of the experience, but John couldn't help staring at Sherlock's red cheeks and hair tousled from laying down for most of the day and god, the way his dark curls stuck sweaty against his forehead... he knew it wasn't far off how he'd look...

"Goddamn it, Sherlock..."

This time, the kiss is deep and long and ragged with what Sherlock recognises as his own surprised whimpering. Having never been kissed in such a way before in his life, his inexperience was evident to John, who took great delight in knowing that he was better at something. More experienced at something than the brilliant man, and could render him speechless with such a simple action.

John shivered slightly when he felt shaky pale hands clutch at him, a vulnerable side to Sherlock that John had only seen in Baskerville and in that train carriage after the first of many apologies._ Nothing_ like this though, a string of swear words ran circles through his mind as they broke away, Sherlock's eyes wide and Johh could see his addled mind trying to think, trying to deduce, trying to figure out what to do next.

It gave him a little thrill, knowing the great Sherlock Holmes' brilliant mind was failing him for once.

"You think too much."

Sherlock shrugged, "the... the stuff... it helps."

The admission was intended to sound flippant, but the bitter regret in the detectives voice wasn't subtle enough to go unnoticed.

"I know."

A pause.

Mrs Hudson returned, her footsteps making both boys jump apart and avoid eye contact. She bustled around the kitchen, making coffee and asking if they wanted biscuits. "Remember, I'm your landlady not a housekeeper" she reminded them cheerily as she set the tray on the table and took in the tousled and awkward sight before her, noting Sherlock's dazed eyes.

"Oh congratulations, boys!" she smiled, "although tut-tut Sherlock... Mycroft will know and I'm supposed to-"

"Thank you Mrs Hudson" mumbled Sherlock, flapping his hands as she was shooed away, at the same time John frowned _we're not..._ but the words died in his throat before he had the chance to deny their relationship.

The gravity of the three kisses settled between them, the air thick as both men realised what had happened over the last 24 hours.

John sighed.

Sherlock closed his eyes tightly and with a clatter of plates, stormed away to his bedroom.

This was more than a bit not good.

**xoxox**

The next few days were tense, John went to work at the surgery as usual and it was only after he left that Sherlock left his own room: playing Schumann's violin concerto to ride out the itching and craving in the aftermath of his relapse. Marked, John noticed, by excessive swearing and a refusal to eat a single bite of food offered to him. On the fourth day, he received seven texts:

_(10:22am): John. Come home. -SH_

_(10:27am): Please, John. -SH_

_(11:06am): I'm sorry. -SH_

_(11:19am): I NEED SOME. -SH_

_(12:01pm): I need you. -SH_

_(12:17pm): Where did you hide it, John? -SH_

_(12:52pm): The flat. Now. - Mycroft_

He'd managed to switch off to Sherlock, planning to wait until his break but when bloody Mycroft... "Sarah, I have to go... urgent..." he didn't wait for a disagreement to break out and hailed the first cab he saw, barking out the address like he was back in the army and practically threw the money at the confused driver before taking the stairs two at a time.

He heard the brothers talking, or rather Sherlock yelling, before he even pushed the door open.

"I am NOT HIGH!" Sherlock was screaming, curled up on the sofa with just a blanket around him, reminding John of the incident at Buckingham Palace. Mycroft was even less amused this time, and was standing by the window eyeing his brother with disdain. However, he managed a curt yet polite nod in John's direction and sipped his tea.

When Sherlock see's John standing there, looking confused, it's almost like something breaks inside him and he curls even more. He looked down, eyes narrowed and if John didn't know him better he'd have assumed anger was the emotion swimming in the sharp blue orbs.

"Doctor Watson, if you don't mind getting some sense into my little brother here" Mycroft stated, jerking John out of his dazed staring, "preferably without involving fists this time." A smirk crossed the older Holmes' lips and he shook his head, John swallowed and nodded.

"Sherlock, did you -?"

"I'm not high, John."

The doctor checked his pulse and temperature then sat back on his heels to watch him, though now satisfied the man was sober. "Okay good..." he murmured, "perhaps we should have this talk, though." He suggested, glancing up at Mycroft who took the hint.

"If he starts to... go back downhill, let me know immediately" the elder instructed, before stalking out of the door with a chattering Mrs Hudson bustling beside him. John sighed deeply, stood, and made his way to his usual chair. "Look, Sherlock... bloody hell, things have been awkward but you don't need cocaine or heroin... or whatever you take, to deal with it."

A quiet snort was his reply.

"I'm serious."

"Do you know what it's like, John?" Sherlock's voice was low and quieter than before, slightly hoarse from yelling earlier.

"Wha-"

"Goddamn, John... Nothing ever stops or slows down in my head. A million thoughts all the time, overlapping, constant. I can't focus on all of these silly, insignificant things at once." His eyes closed, his head dropping back against the cushions. "Cases help me focus, the drugs help me to... relax, to not worry. They... calm me, I suppose. Without a case or something to numb me, I get bored because I can't focus on _anything_, it's all just chaos."

John frowned, brows furrowing as he took this in. That brilliant, overstimulated mind was something he'd envied on occasion, but now it sounded... hellish.

"You distracted me, I love you because you make me feel much better than I am and yet... I couldn't put a word to what I was feeling because I am supposed to be... a sociopath, a freak without a heart, a..."

He didn't need to say it._ A machine._

The last words John had said to his face before the fall.

"Sherlock..." Damn, the detective was stubborn. A fault they shared was a fault that made this so much harder than it had to be. He stood up, crossing the room silently before dropping down next to the taller man. Blue eyes flickered open, meeting his anxiously.

"Fucking hell, Sherlock... two years you were gone, two years I spent getting over you..."

"G-getting over...? What?" Sherlock frowned, trying to deduce the man beside him. _Could it be? Really, but why? _"So when you... kissed me..."

"It wasn't a mistake." John whispered.

Sherlock's heart skipped a beat, his full lower lip captured between his teeth as he pondered over this information.

"Could you perhaps..." he broke off, considering his words. "Maybe... again?"

John smirked at the awkwardness that seemed to have invaded a usually cocky and arrogant persona, and leaned forward to capture Sherlocks mouth with his own, and finally it felt right for the both of them.

**xoxox**

**Yep, so here's chapter 4 for you. Next one might take a few days, reviews would be appreciated of course.**


	5. Chapter 5

**So, here's where this fic goes up to an M rating. Please don't shoot me.**

**xoxox**

_"Fucking hell, Sherlock... two years you were gone, two years I spent getting over you..."_

_"G-getting over...? What?" Sherlock frowned, trying to deduce the man beside him. Could it be? Really, but why? "So when you... kissed me..."_

_"It wasn't a mistake." John whispered._

_Sherlock's heart skipped a beat, his full lower lip captured between his teeth as he pondered over this information._

_"Could you perhaps..." he broke off, considering his words. "Maybe... again?"_

_John smirked at the awkwardness that seemed to have invaded a usually cocky and arrogant persona, and leaned forward to capture Sherlocks mouth with his own, and finally it felt right for the both of them._

**xoxox**

It was 4am when John stirred awake to the sound of music drifting from the living room, apparently Sherlock was playing the violin again - the third night in a row since their little confessions and their first proper kiss, though things hadn't quite been normal between them at least they were no longer strained. He felt his cock stirring, listening to the uncharacteristically mellow music - it was more passionate and less depressing, making a change from Sherlock's usual melodies. John had figured long ago that often times, Sherlock's playing reflected his mood better than anything else - much in the same way other people's fashion sense or attitudes altered accordingly.

John grunted softly as he shuffled his boxers down to give him access to grasp his length, rocking into his hand as he imagined the detective playing his body with the precision and passion with which he played those sad concertos, hell he imagined a whole fucking concert. He heard the music peak louder and when Sherlock's composition reached it's climax, John bit back a cry as he came at last, shooting hot ribbons into his hand and across his stomach with the detectives name falling from his lips.

He slept better after that.

**xoxox**

John was fully aware of Sherlock's virginity and although he'd never been with a man himself, he had done anal penetration with women so was considered far more experienced (_which wasn't that difficult, really, in his opinion - considering Sherlock hadn't even been kissed until nearly a week ago and fellating some guys for cocaine when he was shaking and practically sobbing from withdrawals wasn't really something Sherlock wanted to count_)

That didn't stop both men being nervous as hell when they started sleeping in Sherlock's bed together and the topic of sex came up. "John... what if I'm not very good?" Sherlock asked softly, frowning at the man in his arms. John looked confused;

"Nobody is perfect the first time love, I'll... guide you."

A nod and John could feel dark curls against his neck, "don't be too nervous, it'll be fine... we'll take it slow" he promised with a small smile, "I'll be gentle with you."

A scoff. "Only for the first time, though" Sherlock mused, more to himself. A smirk crossed the younger mans features, "hey... John, remember when you pulled rank at Baskerville?"

"Mh... yeah, why?"

"When we have a bit more experience, would you be interesting in exploring... certain kinks?"

John gaped at him for a moment, then a flush crossed his cheeks and he grinned. "You liked that, huh?" he murmured, making Sherlock blush now. "Could be interesting" the ex-army doctor admitted, pulling the younger man down for another kiss.

**xoxox**

It wasn't very long before they found themselves naked, in a heated position one day while Mrs Hudson was visiting a friend, they'd just solved a particularly stressful case and the sexual tension had been thick in the air all night. Passionate kisses in the cab lead to them barely making it to the bedroom before they were tugging each others clothes off, and by God neither man had ever needed anything quite so much.

John kissed him again, and by God it's even better than before and Sherlock made embarrassing whimpering noises into the doctors mouth. Noises he feels sure he'd been bottling up behind forever, and he finds himself clutching at the shorter man for dear life. "You alright?" John asked, breaking the kiss to press his lips against the skin of Sherlock's shoulder. "You're very tense. Don't disappear into that great brain of yours."

The detective could only let out a small cry when one of John's fingers pushed slowly into him. "Hmmm… You look... God, Sherlock. I could watch you all day getting fucked by my fingers. You're so _tight_, fuck." A smirk crossed the older mans features at the groan he'd earned from his words, then, with a doctors precision he angled his fingers and thrust them against Sherlock's prostate, making him whine and buck against him. "Oh my God, John..." Sherlock couldn't reply but watch in awe how his body reacted and his cock twitched with every further stroke of John's skilled fingers sliding in and out of his heat. His brilliant mind was overwhelmed, unable to concentrate on anything but the red-hot pleasure coursing through his veins, so much better than any of that precious cocaine he once craved so much.

When John withdrew his fingers, Sherlock paled a little upon realising what came next. He swallowed, trying to relax his muscles and shuddered in fear and anticipation when he felt John pressing against his entrance. "You ready?" the doctor whispered, pushing Sherlock's slim legs back for better access. The detective took a deep breath and nodded, pale hands fisting the sheets beneath him. "I..." he bit his lip, "God, John... I'm ready..." he groaned softly.

Sherlock let out a hoarse cry of pain as John pressed forward, waiting for the pucker there to relax before he slid slowly inside, Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut grabbing the doctors arm and gripping it until the searing agony peaked and started to ebb away. John paused, waiting for Sherlock's indication that it was okay for him to move. Sherlock breathed heavily for a minute, gaining control over his senses and his body tightened for a moment before he visibly steeled himself and calmed once more.

"Nngh... J-John..." Sherlock grunted out, his eyes glazed over as his body relaxed against the intrusion, "I... you can move..."

At that, John nodded and held onto his lovers jutting hips, pulling out ever so slowly before sliding cautiously back into the heat of Sherlock's body. "Oh, fuck..." he breathed, panting softly and repeating the motion until Sherlock gave in a little, making the movements easier. John licked slowly over the nape where Sherlock's shoulder began and bit down firmly, "Oh god John!" the detective moaned out, the bite had hurt a bit but somehow only enhanced the delicious sensations that John was creating and distracted him a little from the still-painful fullness inside him.

And then John hit that spot which had made Sherlock squirm when it was just fingers, but this was incredible. "Fuck... John, there! Again..." Sherlock was reduced to a writhing mess, a light sheen of sweat broke out across his hairline and he pulled the doctor closer, wrapping his legs around Johns waist desperately. The pleasure soon overrode the pain and John gazed down at the man beneath him, marveling at the sight; lips bruised and parted in a silent whimper, cheeks flushed, the usually stoic detective looked utterly debauched and yet undeniably innocent somehow; he traced a finger down the prominent bones in his chest and down his ribcage, earning a shudder. "Please..." the younger whimpered, his eyes fluttering open to meet John's own, filled with lustful desperation. How could he say no?

Grasping Sherlock's leaking erection, John rolled his hips forward to dive deeper into him, both men crying out moans of each others names. John shifted just a bit, just enough to change the angle and thrust once again. Sherlock yelped and threw his head back, "fuck... h-harder... John, more. Please..." John couldn't believe the utterly filthy words coming from the eloquent and loquacious Sherlock, and felt his chest puff with pride. He had reduced the worlds only consulting detective to this. He let out a moan and obliged, his thrusts in time with the pumping of his hand, gradually losing control and fucking his lover deep and fast and hard - slamming him, almost, into the bed. He felt Sherlock throb against his fingers, the thin man letting out more obscenities before crying out "John, I think... I... I can't..."

"Nngh... come for me, Sherlock..." John groaned, "_please_, that's it love... I need you to come!" He was close himself, but determined to make Sherlock finish first, then suddenly the lithe body beneath him froze and his eyes widened. "John!" Sherlock cried, shuddering as white-hot pleasure hit him hard, his face an expression of pure unadulterated pleasure, Sherlock's whole body trembled as hot spurts of come shot over both of their stomachs and he clenched hard, spasming around John's cock as he came just seconds after, filling Sherlock with his own hot come, pulsing and groaning in unison.

It was silent and calm inside Sherlock's head, finally. He felt John soften and pull out, before a damp towel was used to clean them both - he whimpered a little, but as soon as he felt strong arms around him as the doctor returned and pulled the covers up over them, he'd never felt more at home.

They'd waited years, and _finally_ everything was as it should have been all along.

**xoxox**

**Yup, that was the last chapter. Lemme know what you thought, I might do a side fic or a sequel at some point if I can find the time.**


End file.
